


It's a Heartbeat

by tartanroyaltea



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Kid Loki, Loki reminisces, Romance, Tragedy, proof that Loki Odinson has a heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 22:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2749070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tartanroyaltea/pseuds/tartanroyaltea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the journey to Svartelfheim, Loki recalls the greatest gift he ever received: a Midgardian woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Heartbeat

**Author's Note:**

> The first section and all following sections in bold italics are set while Thor, Jane and Loki travel through Svartelfheim in 'Thor; The Dark World'. All other parts are set pre-'Thor'.

He wanted to taunt his brother, wanted to see his broad shoulders shake under the bloody cloak, wanted to hurt and stab and tear and pull at all the heartstrings beneath Thor’s breastplate. He wanted Thor to feel the bone-shaking terror he felt; the loss, like a chasm carved open in his heart, so deep that it threatened to swallow him from the inside out.

Loki was angry; angry at Thor, at Odin, the elves, the Avengers, the palace guards, the Other, Thanos, the Chitauri, the girl Jane, the universe…himself.

The girl was going to die, that was plain to see; she was no match for the Dark Elves. How could she be? Even his own mother…no, not his mother. Frigga, the queen. Even she could not defend against them. No mortal would stand a chance against the Aether, its power was too pure, too strong.

He steered the boat effortlessly through the black wastelands of Svartelfheim, pleased to have escaped the prison cell. Chaos ought not to be contained for long.

Thor was stooped over the girl, mechanically brushing stray hairs from her wan face, her eyelids like purple bruises. It wouldn’t be long now, he knew. She was going to die.

That’s what humans do.

 

**_“Say goodbye…”_ **

 

Loki had always been fascinated by Midgard. As soon as he was tall enough to reach the shelves in the royal library without bringing them down on top of himself, he whiled away hours and days and years researching ‘Earth’ and its strange inhabitants- ‘humans’, as they called themselves. Loki marvelled at the shortness of their lifespans, and wondered how they managed to achieve or experience anything in a measly forty years. Loki had visited Midgard only a handful of times, mostly in his youth; Odin forever claimed that it was too dangerous a world, but Loki petulantly assumed that the Allfather merely wished to quash his fun. This was only partially true; one of Odin’s greatest fears was that his sons would become infatuated with beings from a lesser world, and there were few more persuasively pathetic than the hapless Midgardians. They were more trouble than they were worth.

Loki’s obsession with Midgard was well known, especially by those warriors and dignitaries who occasionally travelled to the tumultuous world, and who, on their return to Asgard, found they had gained a small Princely shadow that preferred asking tedious questions to eating, sleeping or even, it seemed, breathing. Really, it was only a matter of time before an ambassador from some farflung nation presented him with his very own Midgardian gift. It was on Loki’s 900th name day; celebrations rang out across Asgard, and the youngest prince received many gifts: large, small, expensive, exotic and downright ridiculous. But the greatest gift of all (in the eyes of the receiver) came from the Ambassador of Niflheimr: it was a girl, a Midgardian girl.

The Ambassador, dressed in flamboyant peacock-blue robes to match his beard, bowed extravagantly and nudged the girl forward. Loki was seated in the place of honour, in a stiff, high-backed throne beside his father’s. The girl’s steps were hesitant, shaky as she shuffled towards the dais. She stopped at the lowest step and stared at it determinedly, head bowed. Deep chestnut-coloured hair fell in a riot of corkscrew curls to her narrow waist; her skin was richly creamy in tone, her cheeks and collarbones flushed raspberry pink above the demure neckline of her emerald gown. Loki thought it a little contrived, to garb her in his official colours; the bright green did not suit her, it battled too much with her soft beauty and the glints of red in her hair.

Giddy excitement filled every pore. He had always longed for a Midgardian pet, but alas, it had only ever been a dream. Until now. Loki restrained himself from leaping down all twenty steps in an instant. He glanced at Odin, who nodded, granting him permission to receive his gift. He gathered himself and glided down the steps, watching the girl flinch infinitesimally as she realised his approach. The Ambassador was still bent in a bow, but his face tilted upwards, keen to see the Prince’s reaction to his gift; the Ambassador had selected the girl himself, and it was of paramount importance that she pleased the difficult young prince.

Loki stopped on the step above where the girl stood, mere inches from her. A hush seemed to settle on the crowded throne room. The top of her bowed head seemed ludicrously far down his torso. He reached out, catching her soft chin with the tips of his fingers and tilting her head up. The first thing that struck him was the colour of her eyes, like flowers in a Midgardian painting he had always favoured, but which had a ridiculous name- ‘Forget-Me-Not’. She had a beautifully proportioned face, impossibly symmetrical, if not for the dark freckle on her right cheek. Her eyes were large, her brows finely arched bridges above them, her slim nose tapered to a small mouth, the size and shape of her pink lips reminding him of a plum. She was, aesthetically, very pleasing.

“I thank you, Ambassador, for this most exquisite of gifts. Your taste is unparalleled, and your generosity is deeply appreciated,” Loki pronounced, dropping the girl’s chin and bowing slightly to the Ambassador, who was all but glowing with pride at his success.

Frigga disapproved of slavery, even though both Asgard and the Royal Palace were swarming with vassals, but Loki deftly reasoned that to refuse the ambassador’s gift (however morally unsavoury it may be) would be to snub the newly-formed and utterly fragile peace between their two nations. He would simply _have_ to keep the pretty little Midgardian. For the good of the realm, of course.

 

**Thor flinched. He had a hit nerve. Malicious delight sparked for a moment through the desolation.**

**_“Not this day.”_ **

 

Loki’s first mission was to learn a bit more about his new pet- just as soon as he had recovered from his customary birthday hangover, naturally.

He summoned the little Midgardian to his chambers, noting the dark shadows beneath her bright eyes.

“What is your name?”

“Lola, my lord.” Her voice shook with nerves, but her elocution was clear and sharp; Loki did not doubt that she came from a privileged family.

“Lola?” he repeated, rolling the strange name off his tongue. Well, he supposed, it could be worse.

“Very well, Lola, do you know how old you are?” She hesitated.

“My last birthday was my sixteenth, my lord.” Sixteen, and really, who knew how long she had been in the Ambassador’s possession? She may already be a year or two older than she remembered. He decided that it didn’t matter.

Loki gestured to a map of the Midgardian world on the table and asked the girl which land she hailed from. Her brows crinkled instantly as her eyes flitted back and forth. She bit her lip.

“I don’t know, my lord,” she mumbled.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Loki enquired, as puzzled as the girl. He did not doubt that the map was extremely accurate, having been originally sketched by an intrepid Asgardian explorer only half a century before.

“I don’t know what it looks like on paper,” she confessed, the tips of her ears reddening. Loki had forgotten about the strange Midgardian custom that prevented even highborn women from being adequately educated. The girl was embarrassed, not stupid.

“Tell me the name of your land, and I will show you,” he said, not unkindly.

“I live in India, but my family is from England.”

Loki’s fingers encircled her wrist, guiding her quaking hand over the scroll and resting her fingertips over the tiny island nation. He saw the girl smile faintly from the corner of his eye.

“It really is much smaller than they make you believe,” she mused. He didn’t know who ‘they’ were.

From that moment forth, Loki made it a personal mission to educate his Midgardian pet, first teaching her how to read in her native English, before progressing onto the much harder Asgardian runes. Loki was pleased to discover that the girl was bright, with a natural love of learning. He was swift to scold any foolish errors, but he was equally quick to praise her, and this he much preferred, because it almost always caused a wide, delighted smile to grace her lovely features.

Lola’s academic knowledge exceeded that of almost all the highest nobles of Asgard within a year; she could often be heard wandering through the palace, reciting ancient poems and ballads in her sweet, melodious voice. Loki would stand, still as a statue during one of Odin’s frequent (and tedious) lectures in the throne room, straining his ears to pick up the sound of her singing, always careful not to outwardly smile when he did indeed hear her voice fluttering throughout the vast halls of Asgard.

In addition to her keen mind, Lola was exceptionally beautiful, a fact that Loki’s hard-headed logic could never quite circumvent. When teaching her in the library, he had an awful habit of staring at her while she wrote until she was too self-conscious to work at all, or leaning over her shoulder and being so entranced by the smell of her gleaming chestnut hair that he forgot the topic of conversation entirely and ended up blithering like the court fool.

Loki was not the only person in Asgard to notice the little Midgardian’s fair looks, but her position as an Earthling, and even more so, as the possession of the Prince ensured that the only true attention she ever received were furtive, longing glances from enamoured kitchen boys and noblemen alike. This was just as well- Loki had never been known for his sharing nature as a child, and maturity had done nothing to quell his jealous tendencies.

As a Prince of Asgard, he was not unfamiliar with the machinations of the fairer sex. True, his lean looks and dark demeanour did not encourage the same fawning as his elder brother’s sunny disposition, but Loki had never wanted for a bedfellow on lonely nights. Lola, on the other hand, had been raised, insofar as Loki could see, in a society where sex was considered at roughly the same sinful level as murder, but infinitely more shameful. Whenever a bawdy joke was bandying around the Great Hall at dinner, or a, frankly tame, scene of romanticism appeared in one of her study books, Lola’s pale skin would blossom to the colour of ripe summer apples and not recede to its usual porcelain for many agonizing minutes.

All of this, her embarrassment and reticence, Loki noted with calculated precision for the first year of her residence in Asgard; she was a delicate little thing, and he had fought hard to gain some modicum of trust from her, he had absolutely no intention of ruining it all by uncouthly seducing her like he would any other Asgardian maiden.

For the time being, his dreams of her –unfulfilling as they were- would have to suffice.

 

**Loki shrugged, his thins lips tugging into a jeering smirk as he watched Thor battle his own fears. Fears that he himself had been forced to face, alone, more than a century before.**

**_“This day…”_ **

 “Why is it that you do not garb me in your colours, Loki?” Lola asked, gesturing to the other liveried servants and vassals of the Asgardian nobles.

It was a strange question to ask, Loki thought, as they strolled through the luxuriant royal gardens, especially considering that Lola had lived with him now for almost two years- and never once worn his official colours after the very first night.

“Because, green overpowers your beauty, and black drains it, my pet. Besides, I am not overly fond of green- it was forced upon me.”

“By whom?” Lola enquired, intrigued by the idea that anyone could possibly persuade the stubborn god to do something he didn’t wish.

“My mother. She insisted that black was not a suitable colour for a prince.”

“I would have thought that a prince would get to choose his own colours,” Lola remarked, watching Loki’s reaction. He grinned.

“That was my own response, almost to the letter. But she pressed me until I relented and accidentally admitted that green was tolerable, and-” he gestured to the greens woven through his attire. Lola giggled at his disgruntled expression.

“Oh, you think it’s funny, do you?” Loki growled, eyes glittering with mischief as he pretended to stalk her. Lola giggled even more, gathering her lilac skirts and preparing to flee.

“Yes!” she squealed, darting past him and running towards the maze without a backwards glance. She whooped with giddy laughter as she ran left, then right, right again, left –no, dead end, turn back, left, sharp right and the centre of the maze was just around here-

“Caught you,” Loki purred, having caught the shrieking mortal around the waist as she sprinted for the finish point.

“You… cheated!” she huffed, gasping for breath. Her cheeks were already flushed red from running, but the way Loki was holding her seemed to set her face alight even more.

“Perhaps,” he conceded, without a hint of remorse.

Lola wriggled free, skipping away to lie down on the soft grass near the fountain. Loki followed, lying just close enough that their arms touched.

“If green isn’t your favourite colour, what is?” she asked, leaning up on her elbow to peer down at Loki. He lay immobile; his long white fingers interlaced over his stomach, his eyes closed so that the sooty lashes dusted his high cheekbones.

“Black,” he answered immediately.

“No, apart from black.”

Loki sighed dramatically, pondering her question. “Blue.”

“Like the sky?” He cracked his eyelids open to look up at the clear cerulean canvas above them.

“No, more like…” he turned to stare at her, trying to describe the exact shade of her eyes, “…those Midgardian flowers-”

“Bluebells.”

“No. These,” he replied, splaying his open hand for her inspection. A faint shimmer, like silver gauze, washed over the lines of his palm, solidifying and merging into a cluster of delicate little flowers.

Lola grinned, delighted, as ever, by Loki’s displays of magic.

“Forget-Me-Nots!” she declared, her smile widening even further as Loki tucked the miniature bouquet in her hair.

“And so, sweetling. What is your favourite colour?”

“White,” Lola responded, immediately. Loki frowned, perplexed by her answer.

“White? Is that even a colour?” he pondered aloud.

“Yes!” she said, defensively, “It’s lovely: it’s light and pure, and full of possibility. Like…a piece of paper before the words are written on it-”

“Paper is generally more of a cream colour-”

“ _Loki!_ ” He grinned mischievously, enjoying her faint ire and indignation.

“White is dull, my love. It is blank- nothing.”

“It isn’t. It’s beautiful! Like snow! Snow is beautiful, you cannot deny that.”

“Snow never stays white for long, pet. It gets besmirched oh so quickly- and then your white is grey-brown before you know it.”

“You’re horrid. I didn’t criticize your choice!” she complained, crumpling up her little face.

“That’s because I have impeccable taste.”

“Hmph!” She sulked, idly pulling up tufts of grass.

“Are you angry with me, Lola?” he asked, softly.

“Yes.” She didn’t look at him.

“I’m sorry. Do you forgive me?” he asked, his face the picture of contrition. Lola merely glanced at him, looking away with a haughty sniff, as the game required.

“How can I make it up to you, hmmm?” Loki wheedled, his fingers walking down the back of her hand.

Lola cast around for a good request.

“Make it snow.”

“Lola, it’s midsummer-”

“Yes, and it will be for another…six years, you said! I miss winter. I love snow,” she said wistfully, peering at him from under her lashes.

Loki sighed, sitting upright. “Well, if it aids you in forgiving me…although I must say, it’s an arduous task you ask of me, changing the weather so abruptly.”

“But you’re _so_ talented at magic, Loki. It should be easy-peezy for you,” she said coyly. Loki smothered a smirk, amused by her blatant attempts at manipulation.

“Very well.” Loki summoned all of his powers of concentration, uttering ancient spells under his breath as he stared fixedly up at the clear sky.

Slowly, one by one, large, looming clouds appeared, edging out the blue summer sky. Once merged, the clouds seemed to shiver, sending cascades of snowflakes towards the ground- each and every one perfectly unique.

Lola clapped delightedly, springing to her feet and twirling in the gentle snowfall. Loki watched as the snowflakes melted on her curious tongue, entertained by her childish joy. She beckoned him over to where she stood, by the now-frozen fountain.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes! It’s wonderful, thank you,” she declared breathlessly, her cheeks flushed rosy-pink, her eyes bright with happiness. Powdered snow melted in her hair; Loki brushed a dampened strand behind her ear. She blinked up at him, flakes catching in her inky lashes.

Before he had time to overthink the action, he pressed his lips against hers. His thumb grazed across her blush-stained cheek as she gasped, the sound muffled by his mouth. He sucked on her lower lip, trying to coax a response from her frozen body. Perhaps he had been mistaken; perhaps she did not harbour feelings for him such as those he held for her-

Tentatively, Lola leaned into him and began to kiss him back, her actions hesitant and unsure, but undoubtedly borne of passion, however stifled.

Wary of frightening her, Loki chained his own pent-up passion and pulled away from her lips whilst the kiss remained chaste. Her eyes were dark and wide as she stared up at him, her face and neck and chest all painted in rich pink.

She looked away first, intimidated by the expression on Loki’s face; an expression that spoke of forbidden things, things an honourable maiden should never think of. Her heart fluttered like a bird’s wings, eager to escape her ribcage.

“Let’s make snow angels!” she blurted out, eager to return to the comfortable companionship of mere moments before. Loki recovered himself, quirking a brow at her.

“Snow angels?”

“Yes, you lie in the snow and wave your arms in big arcs. Then, when you stand, it looks like an angel,” she explained, suddenly embarrassed by her own childishness. Mayhap Loki didn’t want to play infantile games with her anymore; the way he had kissed her, and stared at her afterwards somehow highlighted the enormous gap in their ages, their experiences.

But Loki merely smiled, grasping her cold little hand and pulling her onto the snowy ground beside him.

“You will have to instruct me in how to make the best snow angel, pet.”

Lola laughed, the sound muffled by the snow and the hedges, which seemed to encase them in a little winter wonderland of their very own.

 

**His brief time on Midgard had been haunted, his sharp green eyes ever flitting through the crowds, searching for a familiar face, in vain. Being on Earth, her Earth…it was the closest he had been to her for over a century. It was almost worth the torture that preceded it.**

**“… _The next…”_**

 

It had been over two years since Lola’s arrival, and many weeks since that frozen kiss, when Loki finally decided that enough was enough.

He was going to broach the topic of sexual pleasure with Lola, and then he was going to give her enough of it to render her bedridden for at least a day, if not a week.

“Lola, come and sit beside me,” he instructed, as soon as the night servants had been dismissed. Lola rose from her seat by the roaring fire, carefully securing her needle and thread in the quilt she was designing. She perched beside him at the foot of his imposing bed, her hands folded tightly in her lap; curiousity rolled off her in waves.

He forwent any preamble.

“What do you know about sex?” he asked, immediately irritated by the bluntness of his own words. _Silver-tongue indeed!_

A painful silence ensued, as Lola gathered herself to respond to such a startling (and indecent) question.

“Mama said it was bad, a sin against God and that only married people could do it. She said it was horrible, and painful, but that I had to endure it, for my husband,” Lola said softly, staring at her hands. Loki cursed her mother and the lies she had planted in her daughter’s impressionable mind. He insinuated one of his hands between hers, preventing them from twisting together. Lola reluctantly lifted her wary eyes to his.

“It isn’t a sin, not here in Asgard. And I say that as a god,” he responded, winking and coaxing a tremulous smile from her. “It’s something that people who care about each other do, to give one another pleasure,” he added, soberly, watching every minutiae of her reaction. He didn’t want to pressure her or force her to do anything she didn’t wish to do, but by the Norn, did he want her.

The very mention of the word ‘pleasure’ set the tips of Lola’s ears alight. Loki caught her chin with the tips of fingers, gently turning her face to his.

“I care about you, Lola,” he whispered, brushing his lips against hers. He smiled, noticing that she had closed her eyes in anticipation of a proper kiss. “I want to give you pleasure…” he confessed, his voice hushed.

Lola’s eyelids fluttered open, revealing her uncertainty, her fear, as plainly as if they had been written on a page.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, shame-faced.

“That’s alright. All you need to do is lie down, and allow me to do all the work.” He caught a curl around his finger, twisting the soft strand until it pinged back into place at her temple. His other hand caressed hers, trying to stroke away the shaking.

“Yes.” Lola’s voice was so quiet, so tiny, that he barely heard it.

“Yes?” Loki could scarcely believe that he hadn’t imagined it.

Lola nodded, her eyes flicking up to his briefly before darting away again. Loki gathered her in his arms, carefully laying her in the centre of the thick, luxuriant coverlet. Her chest rose and fell with anxious breaths, but otherwise she remained still.

“If you want me to stop, or it’s uncomfortable, I want you to tell me immediately. Understood?”

“Yes,” Lola squeaked, nodding her head. Loki settled alongside her, resting his head on one hand and cautiously placing the other on her stomach. He stayed like this for many minutes, patiently waiting for her nerves to calm, allowing her to adjust to this new set up.

Loki curled his fingers, twisting the light fabric of her dress and gradually pulling the hem up; over her calves, her knees, her thighs…

Lola’s eyes slammed shut, her little square teeth digging into her bottom lip. She had never been so exposed in front of a man before; she fought back the voice of shame that resounded in the back of her mind, sounding curiously like her mother.

“Love, open your eyes,” Loki instructed, gently. His hands remained buried in the folds of her dress, still to touch any unchartered flesh.

Lola reluctantly obeyed, but upon seeing Loki’s wide green eyes peering down at her, the voice that screamed ‘ _shame!_ ’ died away. This was _Loki_ , not just any random man who had been chosen to be her husband, but someone she actually knew and…cared about.

Her lips parted in a gasp as Loki’s fingertips whispered over the tops of her thighs, tickling the sensitive skin. She obediently held her eyes on him, even as his fingers began to stroke more surely, edging towards the apex of her womanhood.

The strangled little moan she made when his fingers first touched her core instantly became Loki’s favourite sound. He explored the soft lips of her sex at a leisurely pace, peppering lingering kisses behind her ear and down the side of her neck, his insides shuddering with joy at _finally_ being able to touch her the way he had dreamed.

But the picture wasn’t quite right. He reluctantly wrenched his hand from her centre, reaching up to quickly unknot the top of her gown, pulling it gaping open until her goose bump-laden chest was bare to him.

Lola issued a sound of protestation, attempting to block his admiring gaze with her arm. Loki tutted, catching her wrist and pinning her arm to her side.

“Don’t hide your beauty from me, my Lola,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose against hers. Lola nodded her assent, squirming when Loki’s hand purposefully grazed her pebbled nipples as it returned to its former residence between her legs.

Her inner shame had long since mixed with embarrassment, but from the careful coaxing of Loki’s fingers, she found the uncomfortable combination being diluted by something else, something far more enjoyable: pleasure, a warm, hungry kind of pleasure that she had never felt before.

Loki noted every change in her with swelling pride, her blushes receding to satisfied flushes, her teeth nipping at her luscious bottom lip, her hips beginning to roll in time to the patterns he traced on her most sensitive spot. He gathered the liquid pleasure seeping out of her, coating his fingers in her sweet juices in preparation for entering her.

“Is this painful? Bad? Sinful?” Loki whispered lowly, purposefully tickling her ear with his breath and noting her shiver with a pulse of delighted triumph.

“N-no, Loki,” she replied breathlessly, her eyelids drooping lower.

“What is it, pet?”

“G-good.”

“Just ‘good’?” he teased, grinning wolfishly. “That will never do. I want you screaming with ecstasy, so loud the entire palace will hear you.”

Before Lola had time to protest at such an improper suggestion, Loki deftly slid a well-slicked finger inside her, carefully watching her face for any evidence of pain.

Her brows furrowed, and she emitted a startled “ _Oh!”,_ but otherwise, Lola did nothing to protest. In fact, her eyes dropped, intently focussing on Loki’s lips until he felt it would be cruelty incarnate to withhold them from her. He pressed a lingering kiss to her warm, swollen lips, snaking his tongue inside the cavern of her mouth and coaxing her unsure tongue into a lively dance. But, before she could master the steps, his mouth had already descended, sucking a trail down the snowy column of her neck.

Loki pumped his lone finger patiently back and forth, relishing the hot, wet pull of her inner muscles, aching to have them contain a different appendage. But he could not- would not- rush Lola; he was there for her pleasure, first and foremost.

He tasted the salt pooling in her collarbones, nipping lightly with his teeth as he moved further south, engulfing a nipple in his mouth and sucking with such vigour that Lola shrieked beneath his smirking lips.

A second finger joined the first, both beckoning Lola towards her release, his thumb reaching up to coax her into the abyss that slowly bled into the corners of her mind, wrenching cries and whimpers from her lips.

Loki pulled back as her body began to shudder beneath his mouth, watching intently as her eyes screwed shut, her back arching off the bed as her walls clamped fiercely around his fingers. A string of moans were followed by a high-pitched cry of his name, stoking the fire that brewed in his belly.

Slowly, so slowly, Lola floated back down from her castle in the clouds, her eyes cracking open to look at her Knight in Shining Armour. Loki smiled down at her, languidly licking his fingers clean in a way that sent a bolt of hot embarrassment through her tired limbs.

“Did you enjoy that, my pet? Was it worth the sin?” he enquired, his eyes flashing bright with joy and triumph.

“Y-yes, Loki,” she replied, her voice distinctly hoarse after the cacophony of moans. “Thank you,” she added, in a timid whisper.

Loki chuckled delightedly, swooping down to plant a wet kiss on her lips.

“I’d say the pleasure was all mine, but I don’t think that’s quite true,” he teased, winking roguishly as she blushed a pretty pink beneath him and swatted him with a pillow.

 

**Thanos had sought to use Lola against him, to warp and mutate his memories of her. It had worked, for a time, but when the torture was over, the flickering imprint of Lola’s love remained, buried somewhere no one would ever find it.**

**“… _A hundred years…”_**

From the way Loki stormed into their chambers Lola knew it was going to be one of _those_ nights. The nights following the days when Odin had berated or belittled or bated Loki, sending her beloved back to his bedchamber in the foulest of tempers. It happened too too often, she thought, but at least she had ample practice in the past four years on how to placate him. Sometimes she would simply crawl into his lap, winding around him like a cat; sometimes she would run a bath for both of them, soft touches under the warm water chasing the hurt from Loki’s mind; other times, she would stroke and brush his beautiful dark hair for hours, peppering kisses against his neck; rarely, she would tell him a story about her childhood, about the long journey across the seas, about the strange, beautiful lands she had seen and strange people she had met.

On this night, he wrenched his lightweight armour off, lying on the bed in only his breeches, one arm banded across his face. She tiptoed over, climbing onto the bed beside him, snuggling up against him and resting her hand on his firm chest, waiting for him to speak.

“My father wishes for me to marry,” he said, softly, many minutes later. The words seemed to echo in the dark room. Lola’s stomach clenched, tears throttling her voice. There was no question of her marrying Loki; Odin would sooner lose his only eye than allow his son to marry a Midgardian.

“Aren’t you too…young?” she asked, searching for any excuse that my prevent it. What would happen to her if Loki got married? She doubted his new wife would approve of him having a Midgardian mistress. Besides, Loki was hers, and she was his. It was simple.

“Mother thinks so…perhaps she will be able to change Father’s mind. I do not know. We need a firm peace with Vanaheim, and the council feel that a marriage between the royal houses would be more effective than war.” Loki’s tone of voice was purposefully dulled, a tactic she was familiar with- one he only employed when he feared that his true emotions may shine through his words.

“Can’t Thor be the one to marry a Vanir princess?” she grumbled, pressing her face into his chest, and inhaling the cold, clean scent of him, her beloved.

Loki sighed. “Thor has refused, and now the spotlight falls on me…” he mused, idly stroking his fingers through her hair. He had no desire to marry a stranger from Vanaheim, not when the woman he loved was lying here, in his bed with him. And yet…if he did marry a Vanir, and peace between the realms was assured by their union, well, even Odin would have to be pleased with him.

Lola said nothing, but he could almost hear her thoughts.

“Worry not, pet. I am sure it is only idle talk. Besides, I have no need of a wife. I have you,” he reassured her, kissing the sweet-smelling crown of her head.

“Yes, you do,” she whispered, hugging him tightly. They both drifted off into Dream, twined together in reality, but fighting their own fears in the sleepy otherworld.

Lola awoke and sat up suddenly, coughing as though she had swallowed sandpaper. Loki stirred, reaching over and stroking her back, his face creased with concern. She had been feeling poorly for a few days, but he had thought nothing of it; she never complained of anything, though he occasionally saw her wince with discomfort when she thought he wasn’t looking.

She pulled her open hand away from her mouth, and her breath stopped for a moment.

Loki, now panicked, sat up, reaching for her. He looked down at her hand, his heart seizing as he registered the splotch of dark, red blood, livid against the pale skin of her palm.

 

**Loki understood the pain, the perilous error of caring for a mortal. No doubt Thor had forgotten about his Lola, he barely ever knew her. But her memory, though a short one, was branded on Loki’s heart.**

**“… _it’s nothing…”_**

 

Loki left no stone unturned. He summoned the finest healers in the Palace, watching doggedly as they conjured all manner of remedies, feverishly checking their soul forges. To no avail. They could not understand what was wrong with her, nor how to fix it.

Loki travelled to Midgard, terrifying a renowned doctor and escorting him back to Asgard in under an hour. One of the Midgardian ambassadors had been reported ill, and he had visited Loki only a week before- perhaps he had transmitted a human illness to Lola. But, to no avail, the poor Midgardian doctor could make neither head nor tail of his patient (although the overpowering figure of the anxious god behind him may have interfered with his powers of deduction) and he was promptly returned to Midgard with a memory wiped clean as a slate.

He poured over ancient books, hunting for spells and charms, some older than Asgard itself, in search for a cure, as Lola wasted away in their bed, getting more ill with every passing hour.

He was ill himself; sick with fear, hungry, and downright exhausted- he had not slept a wink since that little pool of blood bloomed in Lola’s hand.

After checking, and testing, every spell book in the library, he had to concede that nothing was working; he had tried all available avenues. Or had he?

He waited until nightfall, casting a cloak of transparency around himself, sneaking past the guards and into Odin’s vault. He paused momentarily, hearing the faint sound of wings, but no, he must have imagined it.

The room was cold and harsh, simmering with layers and layers of magic. He ambled past various relics- the Gauntlet, the Cask of Ancient Winters…but they were not what he was seeking.

He peered through the glass at the tiny sapling tree, barely taller than he. Its roots sunk into the inhospitable ground, the spindly branches reaching up within its cage. Three incongruously large apples hung from the tips of its fingers, each one a gleaming, burnished gold.

The apple were their –the gods- secret to immortality; one little sliver every year, and they remained inhumanly powerful, their aging strung out, so that they could withstand five millennia, if careful.

Loki’s breath fogged up the glass, and he pondered why he had never considered them before now. ‘ _They are sacred_ ’,answered a voice, at the back of his mind. Loki grimaced; there was nothing more sacred, more _elemental_ , than keeping Lola alive. Of that, he was sure.

He reached out, uttering a charm that allowed his hand to sink through the thick glass as if it was water. His fingers stretched, brushing against a gold orb, ready to pluck-

“ _Loki_.” He whirled round, shocked by the growling voice. His heart sank as Odin walked towards him, a raven on either shoulder. His spies.

“I would ask what it is you are doing, but I know the answer,” Odin remarked, staring at him with one beady eye. The shadows threw one half of his gnarled face into hiding; Gungnir glinted threateningly in his fist.

Loki swallowed, tongue-tied with anxiety. “Lola is sick-”

“So I have heard. Such is the lot of mortals. There are more diseases on Midgard than people.” Odin’s voice was carefully detached, but Loki heard the rumble of anger behind it, like the sound of wild horses charging right towards you.

“Father, she needs-” The Allfather cut across Loki’s pleas, his voice spitting with fury.

“Do you think there is an infinite number of those apples, boy? For I tell you, there is not. They are precious-”

“So is Lola!” Loki raged, his voice tearing into a half shriek. How could he make the Allfather understand?

The anger drained from Odin. He shrugged his shoulders. “Human life is like a candle, the slightest wind will snuff it out. What use in wasting tapers?”

“But, Father, I lo-”

“Enough. Do not waste your last moments quarrelling with me. My decision is final,” Allfather growled, turning his back on his weeping second son. With a wave of his Gungnir, the stone wall expanded, engulfing the glass panel and hiding the tree from view.

“Please! Father, _please!”_ Loki shouted at the retreating figure, not caring who heard the pitiful misery in his voice, nor who saw the grief on his face.

 

**Loki watched the red light pulse through the girl’s pale flesh, his very being drawn to the power that thrummed through her veins. If only…if only he had the Aether. One step closer to uniting the stones. One step closer to conquering Death.**

**_“…it’s a heartbeat…”_ **

 

Defeat is the bitterest of tastes. It sat heavy on Loki’s tongue as he entered his bedchamber, Lola’s chamber.

“Leave,” he commanded sharply, locking eyes with his mother as the useless healers and servants scurried from the room.

Frigga’s soft blue eyes spoke a thousand words of sorrow to him as she followed the healers, her slim hand resting on his arm for a heartbeat.

The door clicked shut behind her, and Loki slowly turned towards the bed where Lola had lain for the past six days.

Her skin was a pallid grey, robbed of it peaches-and-cream complexion, her plump cheeks sunken. The lustre of her chestnut locks had faded, too, but her eyes remained the same startling blue that they had been the day they first met.

_Forget-me-not._

Her hair splayed out like a halo all around her, reminding him of the snow-angels in the garden. She was dozing lightly, little puffs of air issuing from her pale lips.

He did not wish to wake her, to rob her of much-needed rest, so he sat quietly beside her, immovable as the sun sank from the sky and the moons and galaxies took its place.

She stirred eventually, towards midnight, and he leant forward, grasping her little hand. The corners of her eyes crinkled into a smile when she saw him.

“Hello, love,” she greeted cheerfully, as if it was any other day, as if none of this was happening. Loki felt his composure slip, his traitorous mind taunting him, wondering how much longer he would get to see that smile, the one she had always reserved for him.

“My love, I’m…I’m sorry. I c-can’t-” His voice cracked, tears stinging along the rims of his eyes. Lola hushed him softly, weakly patting his hand as she tried to comfort him. She mustered a small, wan smile.

“It’s alright. I love you,” she croaked. His favourite words, but now all he heard was the shadow behind them, chasing each syllable- ‘goodbye’.

Bile rose in his throat and he dashed for the window, retching over the ledge, perhaps onto an unfortunate passer-by. Lola sobbed quietly behind him, and he silently cursed himself- why couldn’t he be strong, or at the very least, pretend? Some ‘Father of Lies.’

Lola’s frame seized up, wracking with a vicious cough. Loki darted over to her, feeling utterly helpless as she collapsed back onto the bed; he gently brushed the damp hairs from her temples, watching his own tears drip onto her beautiful face. His sweet Lola.

“I love you.” Speaking those words, he knew that he had not said them enough; he should have told her every morning, every night, and every afternoon in between.

She began muttering, feverishly, trembling bizarrely. “Sorry…I’m…sorry…”

“No! I love you. Don’t leave me. Please!” he sobbed, wracked with desperate terror. Her little white hand tried to grip his.

“I love…you …L-loki…Don’t…forget,” she croaked with the last of her energy.

He had always known the day would come; it was inevitable. But he had locked that information away in the back of his mind; a true lie smith, he had hidden from the truth. It was too soon. He needed more time. He wanted to visit Midgard with her, see the pyramids and the Aurora Borealis, and the gardens she grew up in. He wanted to know every thought, every dream that flitted through her beautiful mind. He wanted to hear her laughter and see her radiant smile every day until the end of his days. He wanted to see her body swell with their children and soften with age. He needed more time.

As the light in Lola’s eyes slowly extinguished, Loki sensed a part himself dying too, crumbling and swirling away forever with the cold wind that whirled through the half-empty chamber.

“ _Lola..._ ”

 

**But that was another life, another self… another Loki, who had conjured flowers and changed the seasons, all for a Midgardian girl.**

“ _…You’ll **never** be ready.”_


End file.
